Dawn came as a pale blur behind rainclouds. The storm hadn't truly stopped—it had only shifted, becoming a steady, ceaseless drizzle that soaked the village in a grey gloom. Mist curled low around the rooftops, turning the familiar paths into vague silhouettes. People moved quietly, voices hushed, as if speaking too loudly might draw the thing beneath the marsh closer.
Liora wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders as she crossed the muddy square. The air was sharp, tense. Children peeked through cracked shutters, soldiers paced with white-knuckled grips on their spears, and Branek's men patrolled like shadows—alert but uncertain. Everyone felt it now: the world had tilted. Something ancient had shifted below their feet.
Corren was waiting for her near the healer's hut, his cloak dark with rain. His broken spear had been replaced by a curved blade strapped across his back—a hunter's weapon, forged for speed rather than strength. He looked tired but determined, his jaw set the way it always was before stepping into danger.
"You're sure about this," he said, more statement than question.
Liora nodded. "The Circle's where it began. It's the only place we might find a way to stop it."
He gave a dry laugh. "Or wake up something worse."
"Then we'd better find out before it decides to wake up on its own."
They left before the rest of the village fully stirred. No one tried to stop them—not because they approved, but because fear had made everyone look inward. Branek was nowhere to be seen; likely in the tower, planning his futile defenses. That suited them fine. The fewer questions, the better.
The marsh greeted them like a waiting mouth. Mist clung to their ankles as they walked. Every sound—water dripping from branches, distant birds—seemed amplified in the hush. Corren led the way this time, navigating the winding trails with a hunter's precision. Liora followed close, her hand occasionally brushing the pouch of herbs and charms tied to her belt.
When they reached the threshold of the stone arch, both paused. The air beyond it hummed. The last time they had stepped through, they'd found bones and shadows. Now, the clearing was different.
The Circle was cracked, yes—but alive. Roots had forced their way through the earth, twisting around the stones like veins. The runes still glowed faintly, not steady but pulsing, as if breathing. The spiral of bones was gone, scattered by the ritual's explosion. But in their place was something worse: a hole.
At the center of the Circle, where the bones had once been, the earth had split open. A fissure wide enough for a man to crawl through, its edges slick and glistening. Cold mist poured steadily out, curling upward like smoke from a chimney.
Liora felt it immediately: not just the chill, but the presence. Something waited below.
Corren cursed softly. "I don't like this."
She knelt near the fissure, careful not to get too close. Ancient symbols had been carved into the exposed rock—symbols she didn't recognize. They were older than anything her mother had taught her. They pulsed faintly, like heartbeats deep underground.
"This wasn't just a ritual," she murmured. "It was a seal. A lock."
"And we broke it," Corren said grimly.
"No." Liora shook her head. "They broke it. We were too late."
She stood and began walking the perimeter of the Circle, tracing the runes with her fingertips, muttering the old tongue under her breath. She was looking for something—a pattern, a countermeasure, anything that might tell her how to repair what had been undone.
Corren circled the other side, scanning the tree line for movement. His instincts were good; the marsh was never truly silent. Somewhere far off, something splashed heavily, followed by a low moaning sound that didn't belong to any creature he knew.
"Liora," he called softly.
She joined him. He pointed.
On the far side of the clearing, half-hidden behind a dead tree, was a shape—hunched, trembling. For a moment, Liora thought it was one of the creatures from before. But as it shifted, she recognized the ragged cloak, the too-human eyes burning through the rain.
"Maren," she whispered.
The Beast was nowhere to be seen. This was her human shape—thin, exhausted, mud streaking her face. Her eyes flicked between them and the fissure. She looked like someone cornered by her own shadow.
Liora took a cautious step forward. "Maren—"
"Don't." Maren's voice was hoarse. "Don't come closer."
Corren's hand went to his blade, but Liora stopped him with a small gesture. Maren wasn't attacking. She was afraid.
"They've been here longer than any of us," Maren said, her gaze drifting toward the fissure. "The Beast was made to hold them back. A curse… yes. But also a prison. My prison."
Liora felt a shiver crawl down her spine. "What are they?"
Maren looked at her with something close to sorrow. "Not gods. Not beasts. Not dead. Shapes. They live beneath the skin of the world. And the Circle was the lock that kept them buried."
"And now?" Corren asked.
Maren's mouth twisted into something like a laugh, but there was no humor in it. "Now they remember the way out."
The ground trembled suddenly, sending ripples through the puddles around the stones. The fissure exhaled a gust of freezing air. From deep below came a sound—a low, resonant boom, like a heartbeat too large for the world.
Liora staggered back. "It's waking again."
Maren took a step toward the fissure. Her hands shook. "I've been fighting it for years. Alone. The Beast… it wasn't meant to protect the village. It was meant to guard the lock. When the Circle weakens, the Beast hunts. That's why they cursed me. To keep it closed."
Liora's heart pounded. "Then help us seal it."
Maren's eyes filled with something raw—fear, maybe. Or despair. "You don't understand. Once it fully awakens, sealing it won't be enough. It changes the land. It remembers shapes. It will take yours."
Corren stepped forward. "Then what do we do?"
For a long moment, the only sound was the fissure breathing.
Then Maren said quietly, "We go down."
The words hung heavy in the damp air. Corren looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. "Into that? We don't even know what's down there."
Maren met his stare. "I do. I've been there. It's the only way to reach the core of the lock. The Circle above mirrors the Circle below. If it's broken at the foundation, nothing we do up here will matter."
Liora's pulse quickened. The thought of descending into that black fissure made her stomach twist—but she saw the truth in Maren's eyes. If the seal's heart lay beneath, then that was where the fight would have to be.
"We'll need torches," Liora said quietly. "And rope. And runes strong enough to hold the dark back."
Corren exhaled slowly, like a man stepping toward a precipice. "You're both mad," he muttered. "And I'm madder for agreeing."
By the time they made their preparations, the day had dulled into afternoon. The rain never fully stopped. The marsh seemed to lean closer around them, as if listening. Liora inscribed protection runes along the length of the rope. Corren bound torch heads with pitch-soaked cloth. Maren said little; she simply watched the fissure with the gaze of someone returning to an old, hated home.
When all was ready, Liora stood at the edge and looked down.
The fissure wasn't just a hole. It spiraled downward, the walls slick but marked with carvings like the stones above. Cold mist rose steadily from below, carrying the scent of deep earth and something older—like the hollow of a forgotten tomb.
Corren tied the rope to a thick root. "I'll go first," he said. "If anything moves, cut the line."
Liora shook her head. "We go together."
Maren was already stepping forward. "No. I lead."
She swung herself over the edge without hesitation, moving with a strange, practiced grace for someone in such a fragile body. Corren followed, muttering curses. Liora came last, lowering herself carefully into the dark.
The light of their torches reflected off wet stone. The mist swallowed sound. As they descended, the air grew colder, heavier, until it felt like the weight of the earth itself pressed on their chests.
And then they saw it.
The passage opened into a cavern—not natural, but carved. Massive pillars of bone and stone rose from the floor, etched with the same symbols as the Circle above. In the center lay a vast, circular seal—a mirror of the one above, but cracked and pulsing with faint light. Beneath the cracks, something moved.
Shapes. Slow, sinuous. Watching.
Liora's breath caught.
They had reached the heart of the lock.
And it was already breaking.